


From Russia with Extreme Prejudice

by jujitsuelf



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Cougar will never live this down, M/M, unexpected reaction to Sodium Pentothal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujitsuelf/pseuds/jujitsuelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An op in St. Petersberg goes badly wrong when Cougar is captured by the bad guys...</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Russia with Extreme Prejudice

A/N – Thanks to Cougar's Catnip for all the handholding, peaceful_sands for the awesome beta work, and Jodi for the Spanish translation help.

Warnings- whump, implied Jensen/Cougar and quite a bit of very embarrassing sexy talk

Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended

** ** **

Cougar's head hurt. No, scratch that, Cougar's head really hurt. He tried to open his eyes but felt his lashes dragging against something, some kind of fabric which was bound around his head. Instinctively he tried to lift his hands to push the fabric away, but found that each wrist was firmly tied to the chair he was currently sitting on. The same went for his feet, they too were bound to the chair legs. 

He frowned behind the blindfold, what the hell had happened? The last thing he remembered was being in position, watching Clay and Pooch grab their target's car and head back to the safehouse. It had been unseasonably warm and bright for Russia and Cougar had a brief memory of realising that the sun had reflected off of his scope for a moment. Memories slotted back into position like Tetris blocks, and suddenly he recalled hearing boots scuffing the rooftop behind him, and turning to see a Russian the size of Roque standing over him. A large black boot had connected with his temple and after that everything was welcoming blackness. Until now.

He turned his head carefully, listening for anything that would give him a clue to his location. Nothing, silence met his ears and he ground his teeth angrily. How the fuck had he been so slipshod as to allow somebody to get the drop on him like that? Yes, normally Jensen or Pooch would have been with him, working as his spotter, but this op demanded that both of them act as backup for Clay and Roque, in case the target had more security with him than intel had predicted.

Cougar heard a door creak open, and footsteps approached him. A rough voice said something in rapid Russian and he shook his head, not understanding enough to attempt a reply. Without warning, the man dealt him an open-handed slap, snapping his head to the left and making his cheek sting. Cougar clenched his teeth but tried not to show any reaction, other than a raised eyebrow above the blindfold. The man spoke again, this time in surprisingly good English, “Where is Sergei? You want to get back to your pretty team alive, tell me what I want to know.” Cougar couldn't suppress a faint smile at the thought of Roque's reaction to being called 'pretty' by a Russian mobster. Said mobster took offense at this facial expression and jabbed his fist swiftly into the sniper's solar plexus, making him hunch over and grimace at the pain.

“No time for smiles,” the man said silkily, “You know where Sergei is being held, and I can do this for as long as it takes for you to decide to tell me.”

Shaking his head, Cougar replied, “Save your energy, I don't know what you're talking about. Who is Sergei? And who are you?

“Nice try, and I'm Alexei, I doubt you'll forget my name in a hurry,” muttered the Russian before backhanding Cougar across his face, “Where is he?”

Cougar probed his mouth with his tongue, there was a small cut already opening up where his teeth had cut into the flesh, he tasted blood faintly and grimaced again. He never could stand that taste. “I don't know who Sergei is, and I have no idea where he is” he said firmly, carefully pronouncing each word to ensure there was no misunderstanding between his Spanish-accented English and Russian ears.

A hand suddenly grabbed Cougar's tied-back hair and pulled his head back, fingers twisting painfully into the grimy black locks. The sniper snarled, but knew better than to try to pull away. He liked his hair where it was, attached to his scalp, thank you very much. Alexei speaking again, right next to his ear, saying quietly, “I know who you are, soldier. I know why you came here, and I know your boss values you enough to want you back alive. If he's a clever man, and sends Sergei back to us in one piece, you'll get home with all your extremities attached. If not...” the man let the sentence trail off, but Cougar had a shrewd idea as to what he could expect to happen when Clay didn't co-operate. 

He breathed evenly through his nose and said calmly, “I don't know who Sergei is, and I don't have any boss. You have the wrong guy.”

Cougar's hair was released as the Russian chuckled unpleasantly, “Keep saying that, soldier, maybe soon one of us will believe it.” 

The footsteps made their way out and the door creaked again, leaving Cougar to his thoughts. How had he ended up in this situation? It had all been going so smoothly, too smoothly really, he should have expected something to go wrong. Especially after Pooch uttered the words, “This should be simple enough.” When he got out of here, he was going to kick Pooch's ass.

 

Three days earlier...

“Okay, this is our target, one Sergei Laptev.” Clay used his small laser pen to hover over the picture of Laptev, just in case his team didn't realize that he'd acquired a new one, after Jensen managed to turn his last one into a pile of spare parts. Roque rolled his eyes, honestly, it was like working with a bunch of teenagers sometimes.

“Laptev is high up in a mob-run scheme which is suspected of a whole list of criminal activities, including money laundering, people trafficking, drug distribution, and possibly some involvement with conflict diamonds, which in turn may mean they have contact with terrorist cells that our bosses would very much like intel on. This guy never moves without at least twenty private security goons around him, I doubt he makes it to the bathroom without someone holding his dick for him. We have an informant in Russia who has managed to let us know that Laptev will be moving through St. Petersburg in three days time. We go in, grab him, and get him onto US soil as soon as.”

Cougar had listened carefully as Clay explained the ins and outs of the mission, making mental notes of radio frequencies and call signs as he usually did. When the colonel mentioned that neither Jensen nor Pooch could be spared to act as a spotter this time, Cougar's eyes had narrowed in displeasure, but he made no comment. It wasn't the first time he'd worked alone, and it wasn't as though he'd be in the midst of the action, he was the team's eye in the sky, keeping a watch on any potential threats and taking out anyone who was stupid enough to get into his sights.

The plan was to fly to Russia the next day, settle themselves into a safehouse that was being set up for them, and scope out the route Laptev's car was expected to take through the city. Clay and Pooch would be the ones to actually grab the Russian, after they, along with Jensen and Roque, had taken care of the private security. Cougar would be up on a rooftop, within rifle range, calling out targets and keeping an eye on the situation.

******

Roque had a look on his face that could only be described as 'sour', Cougar decided. The moment he'd heard Clay say 'Russia', he'd fallen into an absolutely foul mood and had stayed there. They all knew it was because he and Clay had been involved in some sort of incident in Moscow years ago. The culmination of this incident was the two of them spending a week in a Russian prison. The captain had held a grudge against the country ever since, and any op that took them either near or over its border was not a cheerful one. As they sat in the plane, Roque was throwing out 'don't even think about trying to cheer me up' vibes like there was no tomorrow.

Cougar shifted a few inches away from the captain, as did Jensen. Their knees brushed and for a brief second their eyes flicked up to meet each other. Nothing was said, nothing ever was. But there was a certain promise in that glance, that said they'd be looking out for each other while on mission, and finding a private room as soon as they were back home again. It wasn't serious, this thing they had going on. At least Cougar didn't think it was serious. He hadn't asked Jake for his opinion, and wasn't sure he wanted to. Forming attachments was not a good idea in their line of work. As it was, they could fool around, have some fun with each other, and still go to work and act as though nothing was going on. They both loved their jobs enough to want to avoid any complications with Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

The plane touched down on Russian ground, and Roque's scowl got even deeper, if that was possible. Jensen debated making some kind of 'if the wind changes, your face might stay that way' comment, but decided he liked his dick where it was. His captain could be a bit free with the bladed weapons sometimes.

After they'd settled into the safehouse, which was surprisingly comfortable, as safehouses went, the serious business of recon started. The route Laptev's car was scheduled to take was mostly through large open streets, making their job harder. This was supposed to be a quiet operation, in and out, no muss no fuss. Clay suspected that, officially, they were not there, so their bosses would not take kindly to them causing a major incident on Russian turf. But it wasn't as though this was their first rodeo, so all being well, it should be the invisible job his superiors wanted.

Pooch, being their fluent Russian speaker, was dispatched in search of supplies, with Jensen urging him to bring back as much chocolate as he could lay his hands on. Apparently it helped him concentrate. The young tech op was currently buried in the St.Petersburg transport system, doing what he could to restrict the flow of traffic on and around the route Laptev would be taking.

“Jesus, why didn't I learn more Russian?” Jensen groaned, massaging his head and rubbing his now aching eyes. “This is making as much sense as freakin' Japanese.”

“Japanese is simple if you study it long enough” Clay muttered from the floor, where he was meticulously checking his weapons, one handgun disassembled on a drop cloth in front of him. “You just have no patience and expect to be able to upload everything like that stupid guy in The Matrix.”

Jensen glanced at Clay with scandalized eyes and opened his mouth to reply that The Matrix was truly breathtaking and only a complete heathen would abuse it, when Cougar's boot nudged his leg. The sniper caught Jensen's eye and gave a tiny shake of his head. Not the time, buddy. Clay always got grumpy before the action started. No time to goad him, wait till they were on home territory for that.

Jensen nodded, agreeing with the quiet sniper. Better to mess with Clay when he didn't have so much access to such a wide range of weapons. Sighing, the blond turned back to his laptop and started swearing at it in Polish. 

******

Cougar carefully shuffled forward on his stomach, mimicking the posture he adopted when he had his rifle nestled snugly under him. Yes, this roof would do as well as any other. He had a good clear view of the road Clay planned to ambush Laptev on. There were other tall buildings around him, but there was nothing he could do about that, he'd just have to be extra vigilant, and try to avoid being seen.

He narrowed his eyes and glared down at the street below him. Something was off. He didn't know what it was, but something was making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Jensen would say it was his awesome 'snipey-senses', he smiled faintly, the kid was crazy. But, the fact remained, he had a bad feeling about this op. Cougar shook himself, he was being stupid. Their intel was good, and the plan was fairly simple. On the face of it, nothing could or should go wrong. Didn't stop him worrying though. Giving the scene below one last cursory glance, he backed away from the roof edge and retreated to the relative comfort of their safehouse.

******

The day of the actual op arrived and everyone was twitchy. When Roque snarled at Jensen for daring to touch one of his knives, Jensen snarled back, surprising everyone. For all his snarky comments, the tech op usually had a fairly even temper. Today however, he was glowering at them like a bear with the proverbial sore head. Cougar saw Clay's concerned gaze, and pulled Jensen into the small kitchen to quietly ask what was wrong. 

“Nothing,” Jensen growled, fingers drumming against his leg.

Cougar just raised an eyebrow, knowing the young man wouldn't avoid answering him for long.

“Okay,” Jensen sighed, “You're gonna say I'm nuts, but I just have a bad feeling about this. And yes, I know I just went totally Han Solo on you, tease me later. This is a shitty mission, I don't like you being alone and I hate the fact we have to keep the guy here and wait twelve freakin' hours for extraction.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I'm so going to get a migraine after this is over.”

The sniper bit his lip, not really knowing what to say. Jensen had just put his own feelings into words. But the last thing the comms man needed was to know that Cougar himself was worried. So he plastered on a smile and said, “No hay problema, todo es bueno. There's no problem, everything's good. Just do your job, I'll do mine and we'll be home soon. I'll be extra careful, you happy now?”

“No,” snorted Jensen, “But I don't have much choice, do I? Don't worry, I'll do my job.” He frowned, mouth pressed into a thin line. 

Cougar crowded him up against the sink and said quietly, “Calme. Nada va a ir mal, es un plan bueno. Calm down. Nothing will go wrong, it's a good plan.”

For a second they stared at each other, and Cougar found himself wondering whether he'd been wrong about Jensen not considering their 'thing' to be serious. Then the blond smiled, it was a fake grin, and they both knew it, but if it could keep Jensen functioning till the op was over, so be it.

“Okay, cowboy. Let's go get the bad guy.” Jensen's voice was light and enthusiastic, as per usual. Cougar grinned and nodded. As he left the kitchen behind the sniper, Jensen's smile faded. He made a beeline for his comms equipment, obsessively checking and re-checking it. If Cougar needed to contact them, Jensen would make damn sure his earpiece and throat mic didn't let him down.

******

“Cougar, you set?” Clay's voice crackled in their earpieces. 

“Si,” came Cougar's reply. Jensen looked up at the building the sniper had picked out as his best location. Nothing was visible, not that he'd expected it to be. Cougar was an expert at blending in with his surroundings; in his job he had to be. 

“Pooch, Jensen, you good?” Clay's voice cut through Jensen's thoughts. 

Pooch quickly answered for both of them, “Yeah, all set, sir.” He looked at Jensen as he spoke, eyebrows raised. Jensen nodded, and ignored Pooch's worried eyes.

“Okay, here we go,” Clay murmured, gripping his gun more tightly.

Four sleek black cars were gliding around the corner. If their intel was correct, Laptev would be in the third vehicle in the little convoy. Cougar breathed out slowly and then swiftly put two rounds into the engine block of the leading car. It swung wildly for a second before the driver managed to bring it to a halt. Before the first car had even stopped moving, Roque had leaped into the road, and flung a wickedly barbed stinger in front of the last car in the column, blowing out all four tires at once.

Predictably, the private security men surged out of the cars, circling the vehicle containing their employer. Clay grinned as he pulled his trigger, he did hate these guys. Wade, a friend he'd run missions with quite often, had departed from the military last year, acrimoniously. Now the rumors were that he was working for some shady CIA type, providing round the clock security and getting paid more than Clay could hope to make in a lifetime. He saw three men fall, clutching at bullet wounds, and prayed that he'd never sink so low as to have to rely on scum like Laptev to provide his pay packet.

Cougar was tersely calling out targets for his team, trying to watch the action below and keep an eye on his own surroundings simultaneously. He saw Pooch drop two security goons with a short burst of fire and grinned. When the driver had first joined them, Cougar hadn't been too sure that he'd fit in. But he'd come out of his shell soon enough and now the team wouldn't feel the same without his quick-fire snarks and easy smiles. He was also a hell of a soldier, and Cougar felt better knowing that he could rely on Pooch to have Jensen's back.

Amazingly, everything seemed to be going to plan, the security men were dropping like flies before the combined fire of the four men on the ground. Soon none moved from where they'd fallen,and their return fire died away. Clay muttered, “Pooch, you ready to drive?” Getting an affirmative reply, he, Roque and Jensen broke cover and warily approached Laptev's car. As they flung open the doors, three more security men burst out of the vehicle, firing wildly. All three hit the ground within seconds, but one round managed to bury itself in Roque's left shoulder. Swearing violently, he put another two bullets into the offending man. 

Pooch ran around the car and slid into the driver's seat. Clay slammed all the doors shut but one, and glanced inside. Laptev was huddled into a ball, looking horrified that his highly paid men had just been decimated and that he was now all alone with no hope of rescue. Clay said nothing, just grinned as he hopped inside the car and pulled the door closed. Pooch managed to steer around the wreck of the leading car, then drove back to their safehouse in as normal a manner as possible, to avoid any unwanted police attention.

Roque and Jensen retreated to the van they'd used to get to the ambush point. By now Roque was quiet, biting the inside of his mouth against the pain in his shoulder. Jensen knew better than to try to treat the captain there and then. If he attempted it he'd only get sworn at and punched with Roque's good arm. Instead he made sure their gear was stowed safely and slipped behind the wheel. There was plenty of time to look at wounds back at the bolt hole.

Arriving back at the safehouse, Jensen looked eagerly around, expecting to see Cougar lounging on one of the sofas, hat in place, along with an 'I told you everything would be fine' smirk. But there was no sign of the sniper. Jensen felt a cold shiver pass down his back. He quickly searched the rest of the house, avoiding the room where he could hear Clay's voice rumbling threats at the Russian. Cougar was definitely not there. Looking at his watch, Jensen tensed, it was way past the rendezvous time. Cougar was hardly ever late, even if he had to fight his way out of a position.

Finding Pooch in the kitchen, Jensen snapped, “Where's Coug? You seen him?”

“No, I figured he was in the bathroom or something. You sure he's not here?” Pooch replied, voice worried. 

“I've checked the whole place, no sign of him,” Jensen said firmly, his stomach starting to twist itself into a tight knot.

“Get Clay,” Pooch said. Jensen was running back up the stairs before he'd even finished speaking.

Colliding with Clay on the narrow landing, Jensen ignored the older man's growl and said quickly, “Sir, Cougar's not back yet. It's past the rendezvous, he should be here by now.”

Clay's frown deepened as he said, “Any word from him?” Jensen shook his head. “Fuck.” Jensen had to agree with his CO's succinct summing up of the situation. Clay was speaking again, and Jake forced himself to listen. “Get Pooch and Roque, living room, now.” Nodding, Jensen turned and hurled himself down the steep stairs.

Pooch was being allowed to look at Roque's shoulder, he being their fall back medic when Cougar wasn't around. “...nice through and through,” he was saying as Jensen burst into the room, “bit of blood loss, but no serious damage as far as I can tell.” Roque grabbed at the pain meds and growled as Pooch took two of them back out of his hand and snapped, “What, you want to overdose in the middle of a mission?” 

Roque sat up and ignored Pooch's protest at having to bandage a moving shoulder. “Jensen, any word from Cougar?”

Jensen only had time to shake his head before Clay barreled him out of the way and swept into the room.

“Right, Roque, you and Pooch stay here and keep an eye on that slimy bastard upstairs. Jensen and I are going to check out Cougar's last position. We'll check in at regular intervals, if we don't come back, no heroics. Sit tight and wait, then get to the extraction point. Clear?”

Roque nodded, mouth a thin line, eyes worried. Clay breathed out sharply through his nose then said, “Come on, Jensen, you're driving.”

******

Clay crept cautiously up the stairwell of Cougar's building, gun in hand. Luckily it was deserted, but at that very moment Clay didn't much care about whether he was in danger of exposing himself and his team to Russian civilians. His heart was pounding and his own breathing sounded loud and panicked. Cougar had only ever been late to a rendezvous once before and by the time they found him he'd almost bled to death. The colonel took a deep, steadying breath and pushed open the heavy door to the roof.

Jensen nearly shoved his commanding officer out of the way in his desperation to get to Cougar's last known position. As it was he bounced on the balls of his feet, and made it through the roof access door a split second after Clay. His training stopped him from running to Cougar's vantage point, but only because he was reining himself in so tightly. 

Together the two soldiers swept the roof, satisfying themselves that they were the ones up there. Clay's eyes narrowed and he gazed down at the blanket arranged neatly by the roof edge, a canteen of water and some energy bars lying next to it. Cougar hated lying on concrete, and always had this little blanket stowed in his pack somewhere when they were working in the city. It was still there, but there was no sign of Cougar, or his rifle. Even more ominously, Cougar's hat was lying on the floor, upside down, looking strangely sad without its enigmatic owner.

Jensen's breathing sped up as he stooped to retrieve the hat. His hands clenched on the brim as he said, “What the fuck, sir?”

“I don't know, Jensen,” Clay muttered, poking at the blanket. A small lump caught his eye and flipped a corner of the warm fabric back. A cell phone was lying nestled into the rug, on top of a piece of paper. The men exchanged a glance, and then both seemed to decide at once that if it was an IED, they'd be the one to pick it up first. Clay was closer and his hand closed over the phone before Jensen's. The younger man grabbed the slip of paper before the wind carried it over the edge and read it, teeth slowly sinking into his lip.

“Well?” Clay demanded, secretly relived that the phone hadn't blown his hand off. The color was draining from Jensen's face, his normally pink cheeks were now grey. He handed the paper to Clay without a word and stood, gripping the hat so hard his knuckles turned white.

Frowning, Clay read the note. It wasn't in the greatest of English, and had obviously been written in a hurry, but the gist of it was that Laptev had anticipated capture and had some of his men stationed on rooftops to keep an eye on his cars. Somehow they'd seen Cougar and grabbed him. If Clay wanted him back alive, all he had to do was return Laptev to them. The note gave him a deadline to contact the men, and a phone number. 

Clay swore at length, then remembered that he was supposed to remain detached and calm in these situations. He looked at his watch, the deadline was still an hour and a half away, time enough to get back to the safehouse. Throwing the phone to Jensen, who caught it deftly despite the hat, he said, “Think you can hack your way into that and trace the signal when I call these bastards?”

The tech op looked at the small phone contemptuously. “This pissy little thing? Of course I can, no problem.”

“Why are you still here then?” Clay growled, striding toward the stairs, “Come on, move your ass.”

******

All the way back to the safehouse, Jensen had been silent. Clay knew the young man could be quiet when he needed to be, he just didn't often do it voluntarily. His hands were gripping the steering wheel and his jaw was clenched shut, teeth grinding furiously. Clay rubbed his eyes, the last thing he wanted was to have a 'serious' talk with his comms man, but he felt the need to do just that.

“Jensen, you okay?” he ventured, and received a tight-lipped nod in return. Sighing, he said, “Look, you've got a boot up your ass at the moment, and the last thing I need is a twitchy tech. So calm the hell down, okay?”

The hands on the steering wheel relaxed a tiny fraction, but Jensen's shoulders tightened up in response. His voice was low and lacked any of its usual banter as he said, “Yes, sir. I'm fine. I won't let you down.” He glanced across to Clay for a moment and the older man saw the desperation lurking in his blue eyes. Clay wondered whether there was something going on between Jensen and Cougar that he'd completely missed up until now. That was a worrying thought, he was happy with the way his team functioned and definitely did not want any personal issues fucking around with the dynamic. Maybe when this was over, he should corner Jensen and have a quiet talk with him. He'd stand more chance of getting some kind of answer, however sarcastic, out of the tech op than he would out of Cougar. Honestly, no wonder people sometimes genuinely thought the sniper was mute. For now, the colonel settled for clearing his throat and saying gruffly,“I know you won't. We'll find Cougs and when we do, we'll kill the sons of bitches who thought they could screw with my team. Sound fun?”

“Yes, sir, it does,” Jake muttered, and a cold smile flitted across his face. Suddenly Clay was glad he was on Jensen's side. Somehow, he didn't think the mobsters would be getting much quarter from his tech op. He wasn't sure whether to be worried or just the tiniest bit proud.

******

Jensen flung the safehouse door open so hard it almost left its hinges. Pooch peered round the living room doorway, handgun pointed unwaveringly at his team-mate's head. Jensen stopped, hands up and said, “It's okay, it's only me. Don't shoot me, I'm far too important right now.”

Pooch rolled his eyes and retreated back into the living room. “Well?” he demanded as Jensen followed him and started pulling out laptops and other electrical type stuff that Pooch was proud to say he had a rudimentary understanding of, and called 'the geek's wet dream' behind Jensen's back.

Clay answered as he strode into the room, “Laptev's goons got Cougar. Left us a phone, said they'll arrange an exchange, Cougs for Laptev. Jensen's gonna track the phone signal, and we'll pay them a little surprise visit.”

Pooch smiled grimly as he said, “Please tell me you're not gonna try to pull that 'you wait in the van' shit again, colonel. I am not missing out on a chance to kick these guy's asses. Laptev is a first class slimeball, keeps yelling us, wanting every little thing. I'm ready to kill anyone who works for him, so please do not leave me out of the fun stuff.”

Snorting with laughter, Clay nodded, then yelled for Roque. The captain entered the room, a very dangerous look on his face. “Please tell me I can hurt somebody soon, Clay,” he growled, “That bastard upstairs is driving me insane. He wants tea, do I look like the kind of person who makes tea? For the love of God, tell me we have a plan and it involves me shooting people.”

“We have a plan,” Clay said soothingly, “First thing we need to do is call Laptev's guys and keep 'em talking long enough for Jensen to trace a location. Then we find them, kill 'em, and get our damn sniper back. Good enough for you?”

“Good enough,” said Roque with a grim smile.

******

Cougar had been left alone after the initial questions and brief rough stuff. His head was still aching and he was getting very thirsty, his mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot's cage. 

The door creaked open again and he tensed, wondering what would happen this time. The same voice he'd heard before spoke and he braced himself for more punches.

“Looks like your boss is a smarter man than you,” Alexei sneered, “He actually seems to want you back alive and he's so attached to you, he wants to hear your voice, how sweet.” Cougar felt the cold muzzle of a gun brush his cheek, it slid gently down his face and came to rest under his jawbone. The metal pressed into his skin and he fought the urge to pull away. Alexei spoke again and Cougar wrinkled his nose as a waft of stale breath hit him. “You tell your boss you're okay, nothing else. Try to say anything more, I'll put a bullet into your knee and let him listen to you scream. Understand?”

“Yes,” Cougar muttered, unwilling to say anything more than he absolutely had to to this bastard. When he got his hands free, he promised himself he'd kill this dickwit, and probably enjoy it. The Russian snapped his fingers and Cougar heard something being slapped into his hand. He spoke again and the sniper realized Clay was on the other end of the phone line.

“Your man is here, he's unhurt, and he'll tell you so himself....” 

The phone was pressed against Cougar's ear and he was relieved to hear his commanding officer's deep voice rumble, “Cougar? You okay?”

Remembering not to slip into Spanish as he usually did for simple 'yes' and 'no's, Cougar said, “Yes, I'm fine.” The gun ground into the soft skin under his jaw, reminding him not to say anything more. He made a show of pressing his lips together, wishing he wasn't blindfolded, now was the perfect time for an eye roll.

“They got a gun on you, Cougs?” Clay said quietly.

Cougar was about to say yes, but the phone left his ear and he ground his teeth in frustration. Alexei was speaking rapidly to Clay, explaining how they wanted the exchange to work. In three hours time, probably to allow the sun to go down, dusk was a bitch of a time to do anything, it was always hard to see things clearly, and Clay would be working on unfamiliar territory, giving the gangsters the home advantage. He heard the man tell Clay that he expected Sergei to be delivered back to them in one piece, and if Clay tried anything clever, Cougar would be the first to die.

After giving Clay instructions about where to meet, the gangster tapped Cougar on the head with the gun again and said laughingly, “Any parting words for your boss? You can beg him to rescue you, that would be funny.” Cougar pointedly turned his face away from the man, making the Russian laugh again and say to Clay, “Stubborn little bitch isn't he? If you want him back, do what I say and don't try to fuck with us, believe me we are out of your league.” Cougar suppressed a snort, who did this idiot think he was talking to? If he actually thought Clay was going to follow some scumbag gangster's orders and wait until the specified time before appearing, he was sorely mistaken.

The sniper shifted in his chair, knowing that he probably didn't have long to wait before his team came through the door, all guns blazing. There was no way Clay would have called the mobsters without having Jensen trace the signal. He flexed his fingers, waiting for the Russians to leave him alone again. It would never do to have the guys find him tied up like some helpless damsel in distress, escape attempts were expected from every soldier, if he sat tight and waited for help he'd never live it down. Plus he really, really wanted some time alone with the fucker who'd shoved a gun into his face.

Multiple footsteps left the room and silence fell again. Cougar took a deep breath and tried to slide his right wrist forward, letting the ropes slip over his skin toward his watch. After some wriggling and some painful rope burns he managed to get his watch under the rope. Ignoring the friction burns, he tried to slide his hand forward further, feeling the watch face move slightly as the rope pushed against it. After a few more minutes of wriggling and twisting his wrist, the loose watch face slid open and swung around on a pin, clicking into place quietly. Cougar blessed the person who had thought to install tiny blades in the edges of these watch faces, with it swung away from its usual housing on the leather strap, the blade was bared and would hopefully cut through the ropes, given enough time. 

With muttered curses and much lip biting, Cougar patiently sawed away at the nylon rope, the small blade making tiny cuts into it each time he got the angle of his wrist right. Finally, the strands of the final loop of rope parted and his right hand was free. Ripping off the blindfold, he made short work of the knots holding his other hand and both feet to the chair. He clicked the watch face back into its usual position, no point in showing the bad guys how he'd managed to get loose, let them think he was Houdini for a while.

Shoving his hand down inside his right pant leg he felt around for the small pocket he'd sewn into the fabric. Finding it, he pulled out a small knife, the blade only two and a half inches long, but sharp as Jensen's sarcastic wit. He glanced around the small room, hoping his hat would be there somewhere. There was no sign of it and he snarled. If one of those bastards was actually wearing his hat, he'd gut him like a freakin' fish, right where he stood.

After looking at the door for a moment, Cougar reached down to his boot and slid the heel open, exposing the hollow compartment inside it. He pulled out a small lock pick and set to work. To his amazement, it wasn't actually locked. His eyebrows shot up toward his hair, how over-confident were these guys? How utterly, completely idiotic to leave a prisoner's door unlocked, even when said prisoner was tied up. And given that they knew he was military, had they really expected him to just sit there, and not even try to get free? Shaking his head at the blatant stupidity, he stowed the pick back in his boot heel and wrapped his fingers around the small knife. If they had any sense at all there would be at least one man on guard outside, so he had to work fast.

Praying that the hinges were well oiled and wouldn't squeak, Cougar pushed the handle down and pulled the door open a tiny amount. It wasn't enough to see through but it let a little more light into the room. Feeling his heart rate increase and adrenaline start to flood through his body, Cougar pulled the door open just enough to slip his lean frame through. He stood for a split second, resting against the solid doorframe. There was one man leaning against the wall to the right of the door, a few feet from the actual opening, another rookie mistake Cougar thought sourly.

Moving as fast as his namesake, or at least he hoped he was, Cougar sprang out of the doorframe. He jammed his forearm across the surprised guard's throat, pushing his head up to leave his throat exposed. The small blade slid across the man's carotid and a gush of warm blood flowed over Cougar's hand. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he let the guard slide to the floor, gasping and clutching at his neck as though he could stem the arterial bleeding. Cougar grabbed the gun from the man's bloody hand and instantly felt more confident.

Stepping away from the growing pool of blood, Cougar looked around quickly. He was in what appeared to be an office building. Other doors led off the corridor he was currently standing in. Behind him was a large plate glass window showing the St. Petersburg skyline. Not bothering to look at the view, Cougar quickly slunk down the corridor, peering into the doorways as he passed, trying to blend in with the decor as much as a man in uniform can. Another guard was standing at the door leading to the stairwell. Hoping that this one wouldn't make much noise either, Cougar rushed him, slamming the butt of the handgun against the man's skull, above his ear, with a sickening crunch. The Russian dropped like a stone, and proved to be freakin' heavy as the sniper dragged his body away from the stairwell door. Just to be extra careful, Cougar drew his little knife across the unconscious man's throat, no point in leaving live enemies behind him, there were already plenty in front.

Shoving the door open, Cougar flung himself down the stairs two and three at a time, sometimes jumping entire flights, landing lightly with bent knees. According to the signs, he had started on the third floor. Once again he was glad he'd paid a little attention to Pooch's attempts to teach them all Russian. Although he had been distracted by Jensen passing him little folded paper notes like they were schoolgirls discussing who they were going to the prom with. Finally he saw the sign announcing that he'd reached the ground floor.

Taking a moment to grab a few breaths and try to slow his pounding heart, Cougar peered through the little window set into the heavy stairwell door. It looked like it lead straight into the building's lobby, just behind the reception desk. There was a woman sitting at the desk, bent studiously over some paperwork. Sliding out into the lobby, Cougar crouched low and crept into the cover of the large wooden frame. He pressed his gun to the woman's leg and murmured in what he hoped was understandable Russian, “Don't scream and don't move.”

The woman, to her credit, didn't scream. She tensed and stared down at him in horror. Cougar gave her a small encouraging smile, which he thought might have come out as more of a feral snarl, given the way her face drained of color. He scrabbled around his patchy knowledge of the Russian language and managed to say, “Get up and walk to the door, don't panic, I won't hurt you if you do what I say.” She frowned at him for a moment, then seemed to understand what he wanted. Pushing her plush leather chair back, she stood shakily and let out a tiny whimper when Cougar rose to his feet and moved behind her, resting the gun against the small of her back. He curled his left arm around her neck, gripping her right shoulder so he could steer her without too much effort. “Move,” he muttered.

Her high heels clicked on the polished floor, making Cougar wince. Why couldn't she have worn flats today? Together they made cautious progress toward the big main entrance. He could almost smell fresh air when someone noticed them. A yell went up and suddenly large men with even larger guns were blocking his only escape route. 

Cougar tightened his grip around the woman's neck and moved the gun, pressing it into her ribs, so that everyone could see it. Hoping he wasn't saying something stupid, he called clearly, “Move away from the door or I'll kill her.” His only reply was a ripple of laughter. A man shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. When he spoke, Cougar realized that this was Alexei.

“Fine, kill her. I think we can find another receptionist.”

This wasn't what Cougar wanted to hear, but he took another few steps toward the door anyway, the young woman whimpering and panting in fear. Suddenly two loud shots rang out and the receptionist jerked against Cougar, then went limp. He gasped and swore, gently lowering the woman to the ground, while trying to keep pressure on the bullet wounds at the same time. Her eyes were huge and accusing, brimming with tears. “Lo siento,” Cougar muttered, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” The light faded from her eyes and her hand slipped from Cougar's grasp. Before he could even say a quick prayer for her, rough hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He was dragged away from the woman's body, which now looked small and pathetic, huddled on the floor as she was.

Stumbling as he was dragged toward Alexei, Cougar swore at length in Spanish. Finally standing in front of him, the sniper spat in his face and insulted every ancestor he could think of. The Russian just handed the still smoking gun off to another man, stepped forward and punched Cougar in the face as hard as he could without breaking his own hand. Growling and blinking back the automatic tears, Cougar felt his nose break, blood starting to drip down over his lip. 

“Basement,” snarled the mobster, rubbing his now sore knuckles. Before Cougar could say anything his right arm was twisted painfully high up his back and two men, both bigger than Roque, frogmarched him toward a heavy black door in a dark corner of the lobby. 

******

“Come on, Jensen, move your fuckin' ass!” Roque was yelling. The big man was almost hopping up and down in agitation, desperate to get moving, or more specifically, desperate to find a bad guy so that he could hurt someone. Being Laptev's babysitter had not agreed with him at all, and he'd refused point blank when Clay suggested he stay behind to rest his shoulder, and keep an eye on the Russian. As it was, Laptev was drugged so much Pooch suspected he might never wake up, and, just for good measure, handcuffed to the bedframe, with the door to his room firmly locked.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” muttered Jensen, slipping his beloved Honduran general's gun into a cunningly crafted shoulder holster. He picked up a knife Roque had abandoned on the kitchen counter, slid it out of it's leather sheath, looked at it appraisingly, then shoved it into a relatively empty pocket on his tac vest.

Pooch was sitting in their black rented van, fingers drumming on the wheel, every muscle vibrating at the thought of the coming fight. For saying most people considered him to be the sanest one on the team, when he was pissed off he was a vicious son of a bitch. And nothing pissed Pooch off more than somebody having the sheer nerve to think they could hurt one of his friends, and get away with it. He twitched his toes inside his heavy boots and gave a feral grin as Clay slid into the seat next to him. 

“Ready?” the colonel muttered.

“I was born ready,” drawled Pooch, his grin widening. Clay just rolled his eyes. He could feel his guys' adrenaline starting to take effect, the atmosphere was charged already, and getting more so by the minute. He glanced over his shoulder at Jensen, who was tugging the back doors closed. The young man had been worryingly quiet since Clay had spoken to the men holding Cougar. He'd traced the cell phone signal, then turned away from his tech gear, in favor of checking every weapon he could get his hands on. Clay had never seen him so focussed on anything besides his laptops before. To tell the truth, the silence from him was starting to freak Clay out, just a little.

“Jensen, you good?” the colonel threw the question lightly over his shoulder. 

Jensen glanced up, and his expression was glacial. “Yes, sir,” was all he said, before dropping his gaze back to his hands. Roque's eyes met Clay's for a moment, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Keep an eye on Jensen, don't let him go off on his own, otherwise they could be stuck cleaning up a far bigger mess than anyone had anticipated. Not knowing what else to say to the young man, Clay turned to Pooch and said, “Okay, let's go.”

******

After he'd been muscled into the dingy basement room, a gun had been pressed roughly to Cougar's mouth and Alexei had said, “Strip, now.”

“Fuck you.” Cougar had tried to say but a combination of his broken nose, and the gun against his lips made the words come out slurred and less than threatening. Two punches to his ribs made him gasp and wince, and the gun was pressed to his mouth so hard he involuntarily parted his lips. 

“You can do it yourself, or be held down like a screaming virgin and have your clothes ripped off,” the gangster growled.

Giving the man a glare that should have, by all rights, reduced him to a pile of smoking ash, Cougar pulled off his shirt. The gun resting against his mouth being cocked made him reach for his pants and soon he stood in nothing but his underwear.

Grinning unpleasantly, Alexei said, “Much better. I always prefer to see the damage I inflict. Your boss said he wanted you back alive, he didn't say anything about you being in one piece.”

Cougar's lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl as his hands were tightly tied together, then pulled up high over his head by a rope threaded through a steel hook embedded in the ceiling. He bit back curses as his arms protested at the unwanted stretch, and prayed the mobsters wouldn't actually make his feet leave the floor. That had happened before and he hadn't enjoyed it in the least.

Moving right up into Cougar's face, Alexei growled, “So you think you're a tough guy? Like one of your movie heroes? You thought you could just walk out without a scratch? Those two men you killed, they were my cousins. Now I have to tell my family that they died working for me. You killed my family, you bastard son of a bitch. So let's see how tough you really are.”

The smile gone from his face, the gangster slammed his fists into Cougar's ribs, first left, then right. Cougar managed to stifle his groan but jerked backward automatically, the ropes binding his hands digging into his skin. No sooner had Alexei punched him, than another man grabbed his shoulder and swung him round, landing a heavy blow to his already bleeding nose. 

Cougar spat the blood that was now pouring into his mouth at the man who'd last hit him, earning himself a filthy curse and an uppercut to his stomach that made him heave. A blond man Cougar hadn't seen before darted behind him and swiftly jabbed at his kidneys, making him arch away from the pain.

More hands appeared and connected with Cougar's eyes, making him see stars and wish he could just pass out. Gasping for breath, he let his arms take the strain and hung his head forward, to allow the blood from his nose and mouth to drip onto the bare concrete floor. A rough hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, making him hiss in pain. “Feel so tough now?” Alexei whispered in his ear.

“Screw you,” mumbled Cougar thickly, making the Russian laugh. He released Cougar's hair and the sniper spat blood onto the floor, coughing as he did so. A knife appeared in front of Cougar's face and he instinctively drew back a little. The blade came to rest against his neck, digging in ever so slightly. Cougar concentrated on just breathing for a while. His eyes were already starting to puff up but he could see Alexei's face swim into view before him. The vicious smile was back, and he said, slowly running the knife point over Cougar's Adam's Apple, “Now that we all understand that you're not as tough as Rambo or John McClane, or even Sarah Connor, why don't you tell us where your boss has been keeping Sergei? We know there are safehouses in the city, and you're going to tell us the exact location of this one.”

Cougar closed his eyes, wondering what was taking Clay so long. Maybe, just for once, being the damsel in distress wouldn't be so bad. The knife dug deeper into his neck and he said quickly, “I don't know. If I knew, do you really think I wouldn't tell you? I don't fucking know.”

Briefly, he thought the mobster had bought his act, as the knife left his neck, and nobody hit him. The rope holding him upright suddenly slackened and he staggered, before two men grabbed his upper arms and held him up. He found himself being dragged across the room and tried to focus. In front of him was a rough table, with leather restraints, like those he'd seen in some hospital psychiatric units.

Belatedly, he tried to fight back, digging his bare heels into the floor and pulling against the men's grip. This did no good at all and he found himself flung onto the table, strong hands holding him down while others buckled the restraints around his wrists and ankles. He had to look to the side, to avoid choking on his own blood. As he watched, a small man entered the room, holding a syringe. Cougar's heart sank, if that syringe contained what he suspected it might, the location of their safehouse might be dragged out of him sooner rather than later. Try as he might, he couldn't slip his hands through the restraints and he soon felt a tiny pinprick in his forearm.

A clammy hand rested on his forehead and and he growled, trying to duck out from under it. “Relax,” said a soft voice that made Cougar's skin crawl, “Don't try to fight it, just let it work its magic.”

Cougar clenched his teeth and started repeating his name, rank and social over and over in his head. Before long though, everything started to get fuzzy around the edges and he found himself forgetting what he was thinking, and wandering off on tangents. He wondered whether this was what it was like to be inside Jensen's head, and a lazy smile spread across his battered face. Jensen, he liked Jensen. Jensen was nice, Jensen had never hurt him. Where was Jensen? He really, really wanted Jensen, like right now. 

Someone slapped his face, and he made a small noise of complaint. His chin was grabbed roughly and pulled to the side, where Alexei crouched at his eye level. “Where's the safehouse?” he Russian demanded, “Tell me and this can be over, you can wait for your friends to get here, in comfort, and then just go home.”

The drug was working its way into Cougar's mind, burrowing through the layers, trying to convince him that telling the truth was by far the easier path, lying was just so difficult, and took so much more effort. Telling the truth was the best thing right now, then they'd let him go. He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his mouth, he couldn't let anything slip. They'd all received training in how to deal with the effects of Sodium Pentothal, and it had been hilarious to see how low Roque's drug threshold was. He'd declared that they were all awesome and the best team ever, and they were all his brothers from other mothers, before the doctors had taken him away to lie down for a while.

A small giggle escaped Cougar and he heard one mobster say, “Why's he laughing? He crazy or something?”

The small man with the creepy voice, Cougar nicknamed him 'The Creepster' in his head said, “It's just filtering into his mind, bringing lots of memories to the surface. It could be a while before he understands what you're asking him.”

“So give him another dose,” said Alexei loudly, making Cougar's head throb. “We don't have time to wait for him to go down memory lane.”

“I can't do that, it'll do too much damage to his mind. He'll never tell you anything useful then,” the Creepster said.

Alexei huffed and said, “Fine, but we don't have all day.”

“It'll work, just give it time” said the Creepster soothingly.

Cougar heard this exchange but didn't really care. He was floating on a cloud of happy memories of nights in fluffy beds with Jensen's arms around him. Jensen really was great. He liked Jensen, he could spend hours just listening to Jensen babble, never really hearing a word, just gazing at that amazing mouth.

A soft sigh came from the sniper and a sweet smile crept across his face. He wiggled on the table and said quietly, “Jake...c'm here, Jake. God, yes, like that, oh God, Jake.”

The look on Alexei's face was one of mingled horror and fury as he heard what was coming out of his prisoner's mouth. This was not the plan, the drug was supposed to loosen people's tongues, not make them start acting like they were in a soft porn movie.

Cougar's eyes were shut and his hands were twitching against the restraints, in his mind's eye he could see Jensen looming over him, bare chest dripping with sweat, a devilish smile on his face. The sniper groaned as he remembered Jake's mouth descending on him, licking and sucking with consummate skill.

“Jake, you're just...oh God, you're amazing,” Cougar moaned, his broken nose completely forgotten in the haze of the glorious memories. “Please, please for the love of all that's holy, please just do something. I'm ready, come on, I want you, now, dammit, please...”

The gang members were backing away from Cougar like he had some kind of contagious disease. Their boss was glaring at the Creepster with a thunderous expression. The small man stepped away from him and held his hands up in an 'I didn't do anything wrong!' manner. “This can happen sometimes,” he said swiftly, “if the subject has a great deal of strong feelings they've been repressing, this drug can access that part of the brain and destroy the walls they've built up around those feelings. There's no way to stop it, you just have to let it run its course.”

Unable to contain his anger any longer, Alexei dealt Cougar a swift slap to his face, leaving a livid handprint on his cheek. The sniper blinked and frowned, apparently having no idea where he was or what sort of situation he was in. “Tha's nasty,” he slurred, “...was havin' good dreams. S'not nice to wake a man havin' good sexy dreams 'bout Je'sen...” he trailed off and Alexei watched in disbelief as Cougar's puffed up eyes filled with tears and his bottom lip started to quiver like a little boy's. He looked around the dark room and said in a heartbroken voice, “Where's Jensen? I want Jensen. Jensen's funny, always makes me laugh.” He glared at Alexei with suddenly sharp eyes, “Jensen'll kill you. Jensen's a badass. My Je'sen...” his voice grew quieter and he seemed to slip back into his dreams again, as the smile spread back across his face. 

Alexei rubbed his eyes, this was definitely not what he'd planned. It was becoming more and more obvious that he wasn't going to get anything useful out of Cougar, so he turned abruptly on his heel and marched out of the room, his minions trailing after him gratefully. As he left, he heard Cougar say gleefully, “Oh yeah, down on your knees, kid, where you belong. Use that mouth for something worthwhile, huh?” Wincing, Alexei stormed back to his office and spent the next half hour yelling at various people, none of it making him feel any better.

The one unfortunate young man left behind to keep an eye on Cougar had a half hour borrowed from hell, listening to the sniper beg and plead with his invisible lover, asking desperately to be fucked one minute, and making the most obscene noises the next, obviously remembering fucking this 'Jensen' character through the mattress. Biting his lip, the young guard felt himself growing harder and wondered whether now was the right time and place to be questioning his sexuality.

Luckily the Russian only had to endure Cougar's moans and breathy swearing for a half hour, because just then, the cavalry arrived.

******

Clay blessed the gods of Russian architectural design for building a nice big loading bay at the back of the building Jensen had traced the cell phone signal to. They slipped inside with nobody noticing them, guns gripped tightly, ready to take on any and all comers. Once inside the building itself, they split into two pairs, the better to search for Cougar.

“You're with me, Jensen.” Clay had said crisply, wanting to keep the young tech op on as short a leash as possible, a loose cannon was not what he needed right now, and he suspected Jensen wasn't in the mood to be taking prisoners. Jensen had nodded shortly and slammed his clip home, not bothering to reply.

To say that Jensen was angry would have been the understatement of the century. He couldn't actually remember being this furious ever before in his life. The thought of anyone daring to take Cougar, right from under their noses, made his blood boil and his fingers itch to squeeze his trigger. 

He might be silent right now, but inside his head the rant had reached a crescendo, swearing vengeance on anyone who had dared to touch his sniper. He stopped ranting for a moment and realized he'd just thought 'my sniper' rather than 'our sniper'. Oh hell, he really had to get a handle on that. As far as he knew, this thing he had going on with Cougar was nothing more than a few fucks when there were no women in the vicinity. A few of the most awesome fucks he'd ever had, but it wasn't like he had the kind of success with the opposite sex that Cougar did. The sniper probably came to him as a last resort when it was either Jensen or his own hand. The thought made Jensen whimper in his head, and he firmly pushed it aside. There was enough time later to have a small breakdown about the state of his love life, right now there were Russian gangsters to kill.

The four men moved silently through the bowels of the building. Upon reaching a door that bore a sign saying that it lead into the lobby, they all exchanged glances and gripped their weapons more tightly. They weren't sure whether this was just a front for the mob operation, or whether everyone on the other side of that door was armed and ready to kill them. Clay slid the door open a tiny fraction, and peered through. It all seemed quiet, so he slipped through, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

The lobby was quiet, deserted apart from two men standing by the big glass door, guns plainly on show. Without being told, Pooch grabbed his tranq gun and shot both men. Jensen noticed the pool of blood on the floor, not far from the doors, and blanched. He poked Clay. The older man's eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed into an even thinner line. Roque muttered a curse and quickly checked that his favorite knife was with easy reach. Clay breathed out steadily and said, “Okay, split up. Jensen and I will head down to any basements they have, Roque, you and Pooch head up. Keep in contact, only shoot if you have to, we don't want to turn this into some kind of international incident. You find Cougs, let me know asap. Clear?”

Nodding, Roque and Pooch headed for the stairs to the upper floors. Clay gazed around the lobby for a moment before noticing a black door in the far corner. It looked more solid than the other doors in the building, and also rather ominous. He headed toward it, Jensen striding at his side. 

Behind the black door was a dimly lit corridor. The two soldiers edged down it, listening for any signs of life. They reached a corner and Jensen poked his head round it, just enough to see that the corridor continued, with more rooms branching off it. It appeared to be deserted, and he felt a stab of annoyance, he'd been looking forward to a fight. Jensen motioned to Clay that it was clear and together they continued down the dark passage.

As they passed one door Jensen stopped. His sharp ears had picked up some kind of low muttering. He couldn't make out the words but instantly recognised the voice. He hissed at Clay, who turned and raised his eyebrows. Jensen jerked his head at the door and mouthed, “Cougar.”

“You sure?” Clay mouthed back.

Jensen rolled his eyes and nodded emphatically. 

“Okay,” Clay breathed, kneeling down to peer at the lock. As he reached for his lock picks Jensen's boot flew past his nose and the wooden door splintered. Muttering a curse he glared at the younger man who shrugged unapologetically.

Jensen cautiously pushed the ruined door open. Stepping inside the dingy room, Clay heard a small noise, and saw a young man pressing himself into the far corner, his gun hanging loosely in his hand. Clay stepped forward, hands out in the international, 'it's okay, I won't hurt you' manner. Suddenly a shot rang out, hideously loud in the silence. The young man looked surprised, then crumpled slowly in a heap. Jensen's Honduran general's gun was in his hand, still smoking slightly. The comms man wasn't even looking at the man he'd just killed, his eyes were glued to the table pushed against the wall. 

“What the fuck was that?” Clay snarled, “The kid was no danger to us.” Jensen glanced at him, one eyebrow raised above icily cold blue eyes, and pointed. Cougar was strapped to the table, wearing nothing but his boxers, his face and torso a mass of blood and livid bruises. He was muttering, and Clay had to strain his ears to make out what he was saying.

“Je'sen, God, yes, Je'sen. Oh God, please...” 

It was more of a moan than anything else, and the sheer need in the Latino's voice struck Clay more than his actual words. Eyes wide, Clay looked at Jensen, who opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, for once, lost for words. Instead, Jensen attacked the straps holding Cougar down and soon had the sniper free. Cougar's eyes fluttered open and he smiled, showing bloodied teeth. “Jake,” he crooned, “told 'em you'd come. Told 'em you were awesome...” He trailed off, his eyes sliding shut again.

Jensen very carefully slid Cougar's legs off the table and gently eased him into a sitting position. The sniper took the opportunity to rest his forehead on the younger man's shoulder, then buried his beaten face into Jensen's neck, arms snaking around his waist in a surprisingly strong grip. Jensen looked over his shoulder at Clay, face flushed with embarrassment because Cougar was still muttering things about what he'd apparently like to do to Jake, right this second. He'd never been this talkative even when he was doing filthy things to Jensen, and the tech op found it rather unnerving to hear his name gasped out along with things like, “oh, God, yeah that's right, just lie there and fuckin' take it!” 

“What the hell did they give you, Cougs?” muttered Jensen, trying to escape from the sniper's clinging arms without hurting him further. 

“Pentothal,” said Clay shortly, “it makes him talkative, remember?” The colonel shook his head and took a deep breath. Far from being a wonder drug that made people tell the absolute truth about everything, Sodium Pentothal affected different people in different ways. During their training, after being dosed with it, Clay had found out that it stripped him of any brain to mouth filter. He'd declared his undying love for one of the female nurses who was monitoring their vitals that day. She had been kinda hot, Clay recalled, but he just wished they hadn't recorded it all and played it back to him later. Listening to himself put into words all the dirty thoughts that had entered his mind was still one of the most toe-curlingly embarrassing things he'd ever had to endure.

Also during training, they'd discovered that Cougar could be extremely chatty under Pentothal's influence, and also very tactile. Never normally touchy-feely, after his dose of the drug, it had been hard to fend him off, he just wanted to hug everyone. He'd never started babbling about wanting to screw his team-mates before though. This was new, and added weight to Clay's theory that there was something going on between these two that he really needed to know about.

“Umm, sir, help?” Jensen muttered, still trying to extricate himself from Cougar's grasp. Clay gently pulled one of the sniper's arms over his shoulder, feeling a quick stab of fury as Cougar gasped and winced. By the looks of the bruises on his ribcage there had to be some damage there, at least one cracked rib, if not more. 

Jensen was looking at the bruises too, his jaw clenched. Some of the tension that had been coming off of him in waves ever since Cougar hadn't made the rendezvous, had dissipated now. The worry that the sniper might already be dead by the time they found him had been at the forefront of all their minds, and, given that he now suspected there was some kind of emotion between the two men, Clay wondered what kind of personal hell it had been for Jensen. The younger man was no longer taut as a strung bow, but he was still far from his normal relaxed self, and the colonel didn't envy anyone who tried to get in their way as they made their escape. 

Looking around, Jensen saw Cougar's clothes in a pile on the floor. He grabbed the sniper's pants and shirt and very gently tugged them back onto Cougar, if only to give the man a little more dignity. Being rescued in your underwear was never fun. Plus the sight of the many bruises on Cougar's body was making Jensen feel sick. 

There was a sudden crackle in their earpieces and they heard Roque report that there was no sign of Cougar on the first floor. Clay swiftly contacted his SIC, telling him to get himself and Pooch out, as he and Jensen were bringing Cougar up from the basement. Just as Clay finished speaking, they heard Pooch swear and a loud burst of gunfire made them both wince. 

“We gotta move,” Clay said, helping Jensen to ease Cougar off the table, trying to get him to realize that his feet were under him, and help out a little by walking as well as he could manage. Clay also had to gently bat away the sniper's hands, which were trying to trace the shape of his face. As soon as Cougar was more or less vertical, most of his weight resting on Clay, Jensen said, “You got him, sir?” 

Clay replied, “Yeah, I think so. You take point, we'll follow.”

******

Jensen scanned the dark passageway, torn between hoping that they could just get out with no trouble, and wishing that he could come across the bastard who'd hurt Cougar and slowly rip his lungs out. 

He saw something moving up ahead, the dim light making it hard to distinguish how many bad guys stood between him and the way out. Jensen frowned, shooting in a narrow space like this was just asking for ricochets. He silently drew the knife he'd snagged from the safehouse earlier, holding it with the blade resting on the inside of his forearm. 

Footsteps scuffed the ground behind him and he turned to see Clay and Cougar. The sniper was laughing softly about something, his hands clutching Clay's tac vest. Even in the bad light, Jensen could see the uncomfortable expression on his CO's face. A handsy Cougar was not an easy thing to deal with. 

Darting back to them, Jensen whispered, “There are people up ahead, can't tell how many. Stay here, I'll take care of it.” This last sentence was almost snarled, and Clay felt another stab of pride. Some brother officers had told him that Jensen would never make a decent soldier, he lacked the ability to take lives when needed. Clay wished they could see him now.

“Yeah, 'kay,” the colonel replied, carefully removing Cougar's hand from the back of his neck, the Latino was trying to tickle Clay just above his shirt collar. Undeterred, Cougar reached out to Jensen, chucking him under his chin and giggling quietly. Jensen winced and turned away, ignoring the sad sound that came from the sniper. DADT was so going to get them both into shitloads of trouble after this.

Stalking quietly back up the passageway, Jensen thought he could make out three or four dark shapes milling around ahead of him. Wrapping his fingers more securely round the knife handle, he swiftly ran and grabbed one of them, spinning the man round and drawing the five inch blade across his throat before he had time to shout. The dying man gurgled and thrashed on the floor however, alerting his companions to the danger.

One man fired wildly, the flash lighting up the corridor for a second. That brief moment was all Jake needed, at least now he had a better idea of where his opponents were. Lashing out with a vicious side kick, he felt his boot connect with the back of someone's knee. That someone yelled and staggered, giving Jensen time to turn and bury the knife in the man's neck, feeling the sickening suction hold the blade in place. 

Unable to tug the weapon free fast enough, Jake couldn't avoid the glinting knife that hissed through the air and slashed at his face. He snarled as he felt a long gash open up on his left cheek. His eyes were getting more accustomed to the light and he could just about see the man holding the blade that now had his own blood on it. 

The man said something in a deep, guttural voice, Jensen's Russian wasn't up to the job so he settled for a wicked grin and a quick, “Yippee-kayay, mother fucker.” He tackled the mobster to the ground, the wildly swinging knife barely missing his eyes. Jake was bigger than the Russian and soon managed to pin him, his hands moving to the gangster's throat before he realized what he was doing. Jensen heard an odd, keening noise and watched, almost from outside of his own body, as his hands tightened relentlessly on the Russian's windpipe, choking the life out of the man. He realized that the weird noise was coming from his own mouth and bit it off quickly, it freaked him out.

Soon, the Russian's heels stopped drumming against the rough floor and the man went limp under Jake's hands. Looking round wildly, Jensen noticed that the last gangster had vanished, probably running back to tell his boss that there were crazy American soldiers strangling people in the basement. Swearing under his breath, Jake quickly dragged his knife out of the man he'd plunged it into, resisting the urge to throw up at the squelch it made when it finally came free of the flesh. He ran back down the corridor like the Devil himself was on his heels, and found Clay and Cougar where he'd left them. 

Cougar was huddled against Clay, eyes shut tight, muttering a prayer in Spanish. Jensen raised his eyebrows. Clay shrugged and said, “I told him you were clearing a path for us to get out. He's been like this ever since.”

“Oh yeah, way to reassure the drugged man, Clay,” Jensen snapped before he could stop himself. Grabbing Cougar, he pulled the smaller man to him, wrapping his arm round the trim waist and settling Cougar's arm across his own shoulders. Later, Cougar could never quite remember whether his feet had actually touched the ground or not, it felt more like flying than running, with Jake supporting most of his weight and all but carrying him at times. 

Together, the three of them burst out into the lobby, Clay more than ready to shoot anyone who dared get in his way. Two Russians yelled and ran toward them, and both were dead seconds later. Clay had always been more of a 'lead from the front' kind of officer, and wasn't afraid to get blood on his hands. 

Their earpieces were filled with Roque's voice, yelling at Pooch to stay the hell down and just keep pressure on the wound until he could get closer to him. Clay and Jensen exchanged worried looks, and Clay opened his mouth to tell Jensen to get Cougar into the van, while he went to help his other men, just as Roque barked, “Pooch is hit, Clay, but we're heading down to the lobby now. Where the fuck are you?” 

“In the lobby, we got Cougs, time to go, captain,” Clay said, ducking as another mobster fired at him from behind a large ornamental vase. He quickly shot the man and grinned at Jensen, “Outstanding.”

Rolling his eyes, Jensen heaved an increasingly heavy Cougar toward the door. The sniper had his face snuggled into Jake's neck and was starting to suck kisses onto the tender skin. “Not the time, buddy,” Jake muttered, gently pushing Cougar's head around to face the front. Cougar huffed and mumbled something about annoying white boys frustrating his libido. If Jake wasn't currently being shot at, he would have been laughing his ass off at the words coming out of the sniper's mouth, as it was, the bullets flying past his ears were more of a pressing concern. Apparently his missing mobster had managed to alert the rest of his cronies and their escape was turning into a shitstorm of flying lead.

Clay dropped three more Russians with short, efficient bursts of fire. Roque, and a very pissed off Pooch suddenly fell through the door from the stairwell, stumbling and swearing as they tried to regain their breath after obviously having just hurtled down the stairs far faster than safety usually advised.

Pooch was wincing with every other step, having collected a deep gouge on his thigh from a passing bullet. Luckily it hadn't actually entered his leg, just left bloody evidence of how close it had gotten. His face was pinched in discomfort but he grinned at Clay as he passed him, single-mindedly heading for the van.

Roque moved to stand next to Clay, and wordlessly held out two tear gas canisters. Clay smiled and said, “Nicely done, captain.” Activating the canisters, the two men ran for the exit, sleeves pulled over their faces to stave off the effects of the gas. Clay pulled the big doors shut after him, wishing there was some way to wedge them closed, if only to avoid the now inevitable car chase through the St. Petersberg streets.

Jensen dragged Cougar into the van as gently as he could, apologizing over and over as the sniper winced and hissed in pain. Finally getting Cougar settled, Jake leaned over the front seats and said, “We're good, can you drive, Hopalong Pooch?”

Pooch glared over his shoulder as Roque and Clay threw themselves into the van and tugged the doors shut. “As my dad used to tell me whenever he gave me a lift, get in, sit down, shut up and hold on.”

The tires let out squeals of protest as Pooch took off, driving like Ayrton Senna on Speed, making Clay say, “We don't want to attract too much attention, you know. Last thing we need is the cops after us for speeding.”

Rolling his eyes and muttering about people not being able to decide whether they wanted him to be a getaway driver or not, Pooch slowed down to a more reasonable pace. As he did so though, two bullets clanged off the van's back doors, obviously the gangsters weren't too concerned about alerting the police to their presence.

Pooch peered through his side mirror and saw two cars gaining on them rapidly. Both had men hanging out of the windows, lining up more shots. “Permission to drive like a crazy man in order to lose the men trying to kill us, sir?” he called to Clay, who grinned and nodded. With a satisfied look on his face, Pooch swung the van down the nearest small road he found, knowing that the cars behind would have to drive one in front of the other, at least lessening the amount of guns that could be bought to bear. 

Taking a corner so fast they almost ended up going sideways, Pooch heard Roque lose his balance and end up in a heap on the van floor. Clay gave a very un-commanding officer-like guffaw of laughter, which ended in Japanese curses as another sharp turn deposited him next to his captain.

As good as Pooch was, he was driving on roads that he didn't know, and try as he might, he couldn't lose the cars behind them. Finally, running out of options, he smiled as he saw a nice big, open road ahead of him. “Hold on to something,” he yelled grimly and promptly threw the van into the light traffic, scattering vehicles every which way as he drove the wrong way up the road.

Mojito, the little bobble-headed dog was nodding happily as his owner sweated and swore, having near miss after near miss. Glancing in his mirror for a split second, Pooch saw that one of the cars following them was now a smoking wreck, having ploughed straight into a large truck, the driver of which was a very big man, covered in tattoos and currently cracking his considerable knuckles.

The other car was still pursuing them, weaving through the traffic at breakneck speeds. Clay clambered into the other front seat and winced as he saw exactly what Pooch was doing. Barely avoiding a bus, Pooch grinned and said, “Are we havin' fun yet, colonel?”

“Shut up and drive,” muttered Clay, wondering whether God would mind if he suddenly received a quick prayer from a man who hadn't set foot in a church in years.

Pooch chuckled and drove with one finger on the wheel for a minute, earning himself a glare from Clay. Despite the amount of times the car behind them almost ended up in a multi-car wreck, it seemed to have a charmed life and avoided everything, gaining on them so much that bullets started hitting the back doors again, making Roque reach for his gun. 

Jensen was desperately trying to keep Cougar still, it was pretty freakin' difficult to keep your balance in a fast-moving van, and the sniper had already slid against one of the wheel arches, making him swear in Spanish. Jake reached out a hand to grab Cougar's arm, to prevent him sliding any more, but found said hand captured in a tight sniper-y grip. 

Cougar climbed his way up Jensen's arm, hand over hand, like he was hauling himself up a rope. Finally he pulled himself onto Jensen's lap and relaxed. Jake looked at Roque with huge eyes, as if to say, 'He did this all on his own, don't blame me, for once I am not the guilty party.' Roque just rolled his eyes and shook his head, then ignored the two men so hard Jensen wondered whether he was in danger of rupturing something.

Cougar was snuggling his way into Jensen's chest, not the easiest thing considering Jake was still wearing his tac vest, but the sniper was making the best of it. Cracking an eye open he looked over at Roque, who stared back. Cougar gave a smug grin and stuck his tongue out a little, as if to say, 'Ha! Look what I got and you don't, a Jensen teddy.' Roque looked taken aback and coughed, then took to staring at the van walls like he could melt them using only the power of his mind.

Jensen heard Cougar whisper something and bent closer to hear it. It sounded like some sort of Spanish song, soothing and soft. He enjoyed it for a second, before Cougar's hand crept under his vest and started playing with his abs. He flinched away, his abs were his ticklish weak spot and the sniper knew it.

Laughing quietly, Cougar started murmuring endearments into Jake's neck, a mixture of slurred English and sappy Spanish. Mixed into the sweet words were increasingly filthy suggestions as to what Cougar would like to do to Jensen, and have Jensen do to him in return. Jake saw Roque's shoulders hunching up around his ears, in a desperate attempt to protect his mind from the things he was hearing. 

Patting the sniper's back, Jake said, “It's very nice of you to go all Shakespearean, shall I compare thee to a summer's day, on me, but now isn't really the best time, 'kay buddy?”

Cougar completely ignored him and started licking his neck, his hand creeping down toward Jensen's crotch. Jake quickly caught that naughty hand and pulled it back up. “No, not now, you're gonna get us both in trouble!” he whispered urgently. The sniper made a sad face and pouted, not really understanding why Jake was suddenly not happy with the idea of his balls being played with, he was normally most appreciative. Jensen relented and whispered, “Okay, later, when we're both in our right minds.” Cougar smiled and snuggled some more, happy that if Jake still wanted his balls tickled, all was obviously right with the world.

At that moment Pooch swerved violently and it was all Jensen could do to keep Cougar on his lap, that being by far the softest place to sit for a wounded man. The tech op heard Clay say in a slightly panicked voice, “No, Pooch, what the fuck are you doing? Turn, dammit!”

“Nope,” muttered Pooch. Jensen peered between the seats and almost had a heart attack. Pooch was driving straight at the biggest truck on the road. He kept staring at his side mirror, only glancing out of the windshield from time to time. 

“Pooch!” Jensen said, annoyed that his voice came out as a high pitched squeak, “What are you doing? I'm too young to die. I haven't even seen the Grand Canyon yet, or climbed on the Hollywood sign or had a lap dance in Vegas, so if we die now, I'll kill you.”

“Relax, bro,” Pooch muttered, not tearing his eyes from his mirror, “Let The Pooch handle it and you'll live to get your lap dance.”

Jensen was about to say something else but was distracted by Cougar trying to shove his hand down his pants and grope him.

The truck driver was gesticulating madly, obviously yelling at Pooch to get the hell out of his way. At that particular moment, the road was quite busy and the man couldn't swerve far enough to avoid the van without taking out other cars as well.

Pooch didn't deviate from his collision course with the truck at all, until he suddenly gave a shout of triumph and flung the van back onto the correct side of the road, into a convenient gap in the traffic. Clay finally realized what Pooch's plan was as he saw the gangster's car slam into the truck. They'd gotten so close behind the rented van, they hadn't been able to see around it and had vanished from Pooch's mirror, and had no time to react when the van moved and there was suddenly a truck in the way.

The car was totaled, and it looked as though if anyone got out of it alive, it would be a modern-day miracle. “What about the truck driver?” murmured Jensen from behind them.

“Come on, bro,” Pooch said calmly, “Did you see that truck? You could put C-4 under that thing and it would barely dent it, the guy'll be fine. I doubt he even felt it. I want one of those things. Can I have one, Clay? Please?”

“No,” rumbled Clay, “Purely because you nearly gave me a heart attack and I'm getting too old for this shit.”

“You're not the only one, Danny,” mumbled Roque, their love of the Lethal Weapon films was well known and nobody even bothered to complain about the bad puns any longer. 

Jensen was still trying to fend off Cougar, who didn't seem to be getting any less handsy as time went on, and had completely missed the whole truck incident.

******

It took a little while for Pooch to get them back to the safehouse, having lost himself completely in the streets of St. Petersberg. His trusty GPS kept leading them up blind alleys and taking them round in circles, prompting Jensen to ask whether perhaps it was working for the bad guys, and wanted to keep them in the city till they all died of old age.

Finally, they pulled up outside the safehouse. Pooch looked exhausted and Clay shook his shoulder in a rough, manly, 'I care but I can't show it because it would ruin my reputation', way before asking, “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine” said Pooch with his trademark grin, not fooling anyone. 

“Get inside and make sure you get some painkillers for that leg. None of this 'it doesn't hurt' shit,” Clay replied.

“Yes, sir,” Pooch said, his smile looking a little more weary as he slipped out of the van.

Roque had jumped out of the van as soon as it stopped moving, privately desperate to get away from the sight of Cougar trying to climb all over Jensen. Not because he was homophobic in any way, shape or form, but just because it was starting to be tiny bit of a turn on. And that was just wrong. His leanings went the way of girls, thank you very much, always had and always would. But still, the thought of those two all twined together, hot, sweaty bodies moving in unison, hands flying everywhere...Roque shook himself. He made a mental promise that he'd find the first bar he could back in the USA and bed as many women as humanly possible.

Just as the captain was heading into the safety of the house, Clay called, “Roque, when we've got Cougar inside, get the van moved somewhere out of sight. I'll patch up Pooch.”

Roque ground his teeth, wanting to get to a bathroom rather swiftly, away from prying eyes that might notice his pants were getting a little tighter than usual. “Fine,” he said shortly, watching Jensen try to convince Cougar to exit the van.

“C'mon, Cougs,” Jensen said patiently, as the sniper clung to him with a vice-like grip. “Time to go in the pretty house now. You'll like it, there's nice soft chairs and beds, you'll be a lot more comfortable there than in this stupid van.”

At the word 'bed' Cougar had perked up, his eyes flicking from the open van doors to the safehouse beyond. His drugged mind seemed to like the idea of having access to beds, because he started trying to get onto his knees, gasping as his injured ribs throbbed. Jensen quickly grabbed his arm and guided him out of the van, again taking most of Cougar's weight as they stumbled into the house.

Luckily the house had one bedroom downstairs, so Jensen steered Cougar in there, gently laying him down on the bed, trying to ignore the soft hisses of pain. Now that he had time to really look at Cougar, Jensen seethed that he hadn't been able to find the man who actually did all the damage. The sniper's face was bruised and multi-colored already, his lips split. His nose was a real mess, and needed setting as soon as possible. His eyes were both swollen, and would be beautiful shiners for some time afterward.

Jensen quickly ran to the living room to grab their med kit, to find Clay patching up Pooch's leg. “How's Cougs?” both men asked as he walked in.

“A mess,” Jake answered shortly. “His nose needs setting and I guess he should have painkillers but I don't know whether they'll react with the shit they already gave him. I haven't even touched his ribs yet, I don't know whether they're cracked or broken or just bruised. Looks like they punched him but didn't use anything else on him, at least that's what the bruises seem to say. Bastards.”

“I'll take care of his nose,” said Clay, finishing cleaning up Pooch's wound. “God knows, I've set my own often enough.”

Jensen nodded and grabbed a few rolls of bandages, intending to wrap Cougar's ribs. He picked up the bottle of painkillers but hesitated and finally put them down again. As much as he wanted to give Cougar some relief from the pain he was obviously in, he didn't know exactly what drugs the other man had been given, and what their reaction to anti-inflammatory pills would be. 

Cougar was tough as the proverbial old boots, and Jake was sure that if he were capable of speech that didn't involve propositioning him, he would tell the young tech to stop messing around with the pansy-ass pain pills and just set his nose already.

Jensen and Clay both took deep breaths and went through the harrowing procedure of fixing Cougar. Jake held him down, while Clay pulled the bones back into the proper positions, hating himself the whole time, feeling the smaller man twitch and try to get away from the pain. Luckily the sniper passed out, and Clay had an easier time of getting his nose back to the shape it was supposed to be.

Cougar woke up not long after Clay finished cleaning up and packing his nose. Jensen tried not to snort with laughter at the sight of the usually well-groomed sniper sporting two black eyes, hair that definitely needed a thorough wash and lots of brushing, split lips and a cotton wool pad stuck up each nostril.

Clay departed in search of food, and Jake carefully peeled off Cougar's shirt. Cougar resumed his handsy antics of earlier, tweaking Jake's nipples though his clothes and laughing. Jensen rolled his eyes and wrapped the lean ribcage as tightly as he dared.

“There,” he said, sitting back to survey his work, “I think that's the best we can do till we get you home. Now, I'm guessing they didn't feed you, so do you want something? Or a drink, maybe?”

“No, want you,” Cougar purred.

Jake gave a tired smile, his adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving him bone-weary. “You're not thinking straight, Cougs. You probably need some rest, I'd better leave you alone. We've only got a couple of hours to wait before we can get out of here.”

“No, don't go.” Cougar's hand shot out and grabbed Jensen's wrist. He tugged the younger man toward him, once more wincing as his ribs protested. “Stay, Jake. I want you to.”

“Fine.” Jake settled himself in a chair and propped his feet on the night stand, “See? I'm here. Now shut up and rest.”

“Y'always are a bossy little thing when we get to bed, aren't ya?” Cougar leered.

“Yes, now be quiet.” Jake made a show of closing his own eyes, hoping Cougar would get the idea. 

For a few minutes the room was silent, then Cougar whispered, “Jake?”

“What?”

“Snuggle?”

“I am going to tease you about using that word for the rest of your life.”

“Snuggle, now.”

“Fiiine.”

Jensen gently slid onto the bed beside Cougar, who grinned delightedly. He reached up and pulled Jake's arm around his shoulders, nuzzling his face into the tech's neck and sighing in contentment.

“You do know you're going to have the mother of all hangovers, don't you?” Jensen said conversationally, as though the man he wanted more than anyone else in the world wasn't sucking hot marks onto some very visible Jake-skin. He received nothing but a growl in reply, Cougar was far too busy trying to get his loco on/off fuck buddy, (or should he really call Jake his loco amante?) turned on to worry about such things.

Cougar's hands resumed their wandering, dancing lightly over the hard muscles of Jensen's chest and abs. This time Jake didn't push him away, and Cougar did an internal victory dance. He was very confused at the moment, the only parts of his mind that were really functioning were the ones that told him to keep talking, and to pursue Jake as though his life depended on it. He knew he should try to keep quiet, and that he was saying things that would make him want to kill himself later, but the drug had certainly done its job of loosening his tongue.

The events of the day were starting to catch up with Cougar and he felt himself growing tired. The bed was soft and Jake made an excellent pillow. One side of his head yelled at him to just go to sleep, the other made annoyed noises and reminded him how horny he still was. Cougar didn't remember making any noise but he must have because Jake suddenly shifted and said, “What? What's wrong?”

Cougar sighed and rubbed at his painful eyes. “M'tired, but I don't wanna sleep.”

“It's okay, I'll keep an eye on you, make sure you don't try to wander off and ravish anyone in your sleep.” Jake grinned and Cougar's nether regions became interested again.

“Wouldn't ravish anyone...'cept you.”

“I'm flattered, Cougs, but I think I could fight you off if I needed to. You're not exactly in peak condition at the moment.”

“Did you find my hat?” Cougar's train of thought suddenly derailed as he realized his hat was still nowhere to be seen. 

“What? Oh, yeah. I got it, don't panic.” Jake rubbed soothing circles between Cougar's shoulder blades, hoping he could relax him enough to go to sleep and stop trying to talk his way into Jensen's pants.

Something that was definitely a purr rumbled through Cougar and he licked Jake's neck again. “Gracias.”

“De nada.” Jensen closed his eyes and wished Cougar would fall asleep, all the licking and touching was starting to get little Jake interested, and there was no way he was doing anything with a man who was stoned out of his mind.

Cougar's hand crept up to stroke Jensen's cheek, fingers running along the thin line left by the Russian's wickedly sharp knife. Jake had forgotten all about it, and suddenly remembered that he should really clean it up and see whether it needed stitches. The wandering fingers turned Jake's face to Cougar's, and the sniper pressed a soft kiss to those gorgeous lips. Then he winced and swore as the pressure on his split and bruised mouth turned painful.

“See?” said Jake's concerned voice, and Cougar opened an eye to stare at him. “Told you, you're in no fit state to go getting jiggy with anyone. Now lie still and go to sleep for a while.”

A naughty grin crept onto Cougar's face, “I get all tingly when you get masterful.”

“Now there's another phrase that I never thought I'd hear from you,” Jake shook his head in disbelief, whatever they'd given Cougs had been some freakin' powerful shit. 

Silence fell again and Jake hoped the older man had finally dozed off. He was almost drifting off to sleep himself when he heard Cougar mumble, “Still wanna screw you...”

Jensen couldn't hold back the grin as he said, “Later, buddy. When we're on home soil and in a very private room with a very big bed. Then you can screw me as much as you want. But please, for the love of God, don't go talking about it in front of the others anymore, okay?”

There was no reply, Cougar had finally given in to Morpheus and was drooling onto Jake's shoulder. Quickly setting himself an alarm on his phone to wake him in an hour, Jake relaxed and let his eyes slide shut as well.

******

The process of getting themselves and Laptev back to the US was positively simple compared to the ordeal of getting Cougar back. The plane arrived at the extraction point on time, and ferried them all home. Cougar was getting back to normal and was curled up in a ball refusing to speak to anyone, hiding his face, which was blazing with embarrassment, behind his hat.

After landing, Laptev was duly handed over to the people who wanted him, and the team returned to post for their de-briefing, and to get their injuries treated. Roque complained loudly about having his shoulder examined, apparently manly men such as he did not bother about such small scratches as bullet wounds through their shoulders. Only when a nurse who looked as though she could quite easily terrify a whole group of Hells Angels into submission, fixed Roque with a glare and told him he could either let the medical staff do their jobs with good grace and gratitude or be dragged to the treatment room by his dick and be sedated while they patched him up, did he stop moaning.

Cougar was sent to a private room to have tests and sleep off the effects of the drug. He went silently, not making eye contact with anyone. He was avoiding Clay and Jensen like the plague, and was obviously wishing he could rewind the last day and erase it from everyone's memories.

Jake gave the sniper a thumbs up as he vanished into his room, but got nothing in return. He sighed and tried to keep still as a pretty young nurse stitched his slashed cheek. She was smiling at him and shooting him coquettish glances under her eyelashes. She may as well have not bothered, Jensen was far too busy trying to figure out just what the hell kind of mess he and Cougar were now in.

Clay strode into the treatment room and after checking on Pooch and Roque, said quietly to Jensen, “When you're done here, we need to talk.” Jensen nodded and miserably trailed to Clay's office a few minutes later, visualizing his career vanishing down the drain with every step.

The colonel was pacing the length of his office when Jensen tapped on the door and entered. Never one for subtlety, Clay launched straight into the speech he'd been rehearsing in his head.

“Look, Jensen. I don't know what's going on with you and Cougar, and to be honest I don't think I want to know. I'm not your dad, I really couldn't give a rat's ass how you go about getting your kicks or who you choose to sleep with. But, if this, this thing with Cougs is going to mess up my team, I need to know now. I'm not trying to get gory details, I'm not that much of a pervert. All I want is to know whether I need to arrange any transfers any time soon.”

He stopped and looked at Jensen expectantly. The young man shifted from foot to foot and said hesitantly, “Umm, I don't know what you're talking about, sir...”

“Don't bullshit me, corporal.” Clay said firmly, “There's something going on and for the sake of keeping my team together I need to know whether it's going to fuck things up. So, do you need me to request a transfer for you?”

“No!” Jake all but yelled the word, then looked shamefaced. “Umm, no, sir. No transfer required, I promise. Err, I don't know what's going on with me and Cougs. But I'll sort it out, I swear. It won't mess anything up. I know I got a little twitchy in Russia...” Clay quirked an eyebrow, “Okay, more than a little twitchy, but I'll make sure nothing like that happens again.” He stopped and cleared his throat, then continued, “Umm, sir. Are you you going to, you know, mention this to anyone else? I know technically you're supposed to report me and Cougar and I don't wanna be responsible for you getting into trouble if you, err, you know, don't say anything. Um, are you going to say anything? Sir?”

With his eyes big and worried behind those ridiculous round lenses, Jensen looked like an anxious teenager and Clay suddenly felt very old. He'd been in the military for a long time now, and occasionally forgot that people were allowed to have feelings, that they weren't shameful things, the young man in front of him was within his rights to have the hots for whomever he pleased. It was just a shame Jensen had chosen to have a thing for Cougar, and vice versa. However, as much as Clay did not want to play Cupid for two of his own men, he really didn't see what the big problem was with them having some kind of quiet relationship. As long as nothing messed with the running of his team, he was happy for Jensen and Cougar to bang each other's brains out and do...whatever it was people in normal, healthy relationships did.

Clay wasn't one of those officers who felt it was their duty to tell his superiors absolutely everything. Sometimes if they only knew a few select details, everyone was happier and the Army ran far more smoothly, in his opinion. So he shook his head and grinned at Jensen's worried expression, “No, I'm not going to say anything.” Jensen let out the breath he'd been holding, but sucked it in again as Clay held up a warning finger and continued, “But, if I get even a hint that you and Cougs are focusing more on each other's safety than the safety of the rest of my team, or the missions themselves, I might revisit that decision. That clear, corporal?”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen said quietly, his voice relieved. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, but Clay already knew what he wanted to say.

“Go,” He jerked his head toward his door, “See how he is. And please, if he starts with the smut talk again, just duct tape his mouth. Pooch'll have some on him, he always does.”

A real smile quickly lit Jensen's face as he saluted and exited the colonel's office. That had gone better than he'd dared to hope. He'd imagined that he and Cougar would both be looking for new jobs in the very near future, but had forgotten just how great, no, just how awesome a CO Clay really was. Jake made a mental note to hack into Clay's pension plan and increase the payouts. It was the least he could do. And it was more useful than a thank you card.

He almost skipped the short distance to the medical block, but when he got there, the problem of getting Cougar to talk to him made his smile fade. The same nurse who'd stitched him up earlier beamed at him as he walked to Cougar's room. He didn't even notice her and she bit her lip sadly, then perked up as a handsome captain winked at her.

Outside Cougar's small room, Jake met a short nurse who told him that he could see the sniper, but if he showed signs of fatigue, Jensen should leave and let Cougar get some much needed rest. Jake nodded obediently, it was always best to stay on the good side of the medical staff, as you didn't want a doctor who hated you, putting you back together.

Slipping inside the room, Jake stood with his back pressed to the door, clinging onto the handle as though it would save him from the conversation he was about to attempt to have. Cougar was lying in bed, his hat on a chair by the window. He was studiously ignoring Jensen, his face turned away. The only indicators that he was feeling any sort of emotion at all right now were his hands, which were twisted tightly into the sheets.

“Hi,” Jake said quietly. “Err, how are you feeling?” A low grunt that could have meant anything was the only noise that came from Cougar. Jake took a deep breath and let go of the door handle. He walked slowly round the bed, eyes never leaving the sniper's battered face. He reverently picked up the hat and transferred it to the windowsill before drawing the chair up to the bed and sitting down.

Cougar didn't turn his head away, but his eyes were firmly fixed on the ceiling. Jensen decided that maybe the lack of eye contact made this easier and didn't complain.

“Cougs?” Jake ventured tentatively, and still received no response. “Cougs, come on, you have to talk to me eventually.”

“No I don't,” The words were barely above a whisper and Jake had to lean forward to hear them.

Trying to ignore his rapidly sinking heart, Jensen said, “Okay, I'll talk at you then. Not like I haven't done it before, right? Oh, that's a question, you won't answer that will you, seeing as you're not talking.”

An eye roll wasn't verbal communication, but Jensen counted it as such, knowing it was the most he was likely to get out of Cougar for a while. He coughed and said, “Yeah, well, it's been an, err, interesting couple of days. Enlightening, I think that's the word to use.”

Cougar's eyes were boring into Jake's, daring him to say anything about the things that had been spewing, unchecked and uncensored, from the sniper's mouth. Jensen sensed the danger but bravely sallied forth with another attempt at getting a response from the Latino.

“Look, Cougs. I've already seen you naked, so there is absolutely no need for you to be embarrassed around me. The stuff you said was, well, it was educational, and to be honest, kind of flattering.”

Cougar raised an eyebrow, and hoped Jake didn't see him wince as his bruised eye was forced to move.

“It was flattering,” said Jake, smiling faintly, “And if I'm one hundred percent honest with myself, some of the things you mentioned didn't sound half bad.” He let his smile widen into a grin, and thought he saw Cougar's mouth twitch too. 

“You serious?” The sniper's lips barely moved but the words were clear.

“As serious as I ever get about anything, yeah, I'm serious. Why? Did you think I'd be horrified at hearing you say you wanted to tie me up and fuck me till I passed out? Dude, I've heard Jolene say worse things to Pooch, so relax.” 

Cougar closed his eyes in sheer mortification as memories of the things he'd said came flooding back to him. Oh God, if he was lucky they'd just throw him out of the Army there and then, and not leak the story to the entire post before he left.

“You talk to Clay?” he mumbled.

“Yep...” replied Jake, popping the 'p'.

“They throwing us out?” Cougar asked, before Jake could continue. He looked so utterly forlorn, Jensen felt as though he should wrap him in a warm blanket and stuff him inside his jacket, like one of those silly little dogs that famous women insisted on carrying around.

“What? No, of course not. If you'd let me finish, you impatient little bugger. Yes, I talked to Clay and no, we're not American's newest jobseekers. We're okay.”

Cougar narrowed his eyes, “Okay, meaning what?”

Jensen grinned, “Okay, meaning Clay doesn't give a shit what we do as long as we keep it behind closed doors and don't let it screw up the team. Keep it professional and we're good.”

Cougar couldn't quite believe that his career wasn't in shreds, after every incriminating thing Clay had heard him say. He promised himself that he'd buy Clay a large bottle of Glenlivet, the twelve year old stuff that the colonel adored, as soon as he was out of the medical block. 

Jensen was talking again and Cougar made himself focus enough to understand what he was saying.

“So, I don't know whether now is the right time for this, with so many people around, but I'm guessing at some point we need to have a 'what's the deal here?' kind of talk. Yeah?”

Cougar wondered whether Jensen would believe him if he said he felt sick and needed a nurse right away. The young man probably would, and the 'talk' could be postponed. But Cougar glanced over at Jake and saw the unguarded hope and naked apprehension in those big blue eyes and felt himself begin to slide down a slippery slope to a place where refusing Jensen anything was impossible.

The two of them had been fooling around for a while now, neither one willing to put a name to the thing they could both sense between them. Cougar sighed, well, he and his wildly flapping mouth were the reason Jake was in this situation, it was only fair that he man up and deal with the fallout.

Shifting uncomfortably on the bed, Cougar said quietly, “You're right, there are too many people here and they might not be as forgiving as Clay if they overhear us. But, err, I was wrong.”

“You were wrong?” Jake gave a polite smile, obviously not sure what Cougar was talking about.

“Si, I was wrong. I thought I could do the whole fuck buddy thing,” Jake almost had to read Cougar's lips, he was talking so softly, “I thought I could just take what I wanted from you and then walk away. But apparently it's not that simple.”

“Not it's not,” agreed Jensen, rubbing his eyes. “So maybe we do have a...thing going on, right?”

“I didn't intend to, but yeah, maybe,” Cougar nodded. 

Inwardly, Jake was dancing with glee and throwing the biggest victory celebration of all time, World War Two notwithstanding. Outwardly he kept his face calm and said quietly, “Well, that's okay then. At least now we know where we stand. Granted we stand on very uneven ground where one false move could get us kicked out of the Army, but it's better than sitting on the damn fence.”

“So now what?” Cougar tried to get into a position where his ribs didn't ache, Jake stood and tucked a pillow behind him, smiling almost shyly.

“Better?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Cougar gave the young man one of his rare, genuine smiles. It lit up his face and made his eyes crinkle, or would have if his eyes weren't puffy and turning all shades of the rainbow. Even so, Jake appreciated the effort and thought perhaps the time was right for him to be a little tactile. He ran his fingers lightly along Cougar's bare collarbone as he sat back down. Very cool, very suave, he complimented himself.

Cougar's smile turned into a smirk as he felt the light touch, and he said, “Can't keep your hands to yourself, huh?”

Snorting quietly with laughter, Jensen said, “After all the groping you did, I think I'm allowed a little in return.”

Cougar flushed, and looked down at the bedsheets. “They're never going to let me live this down, are they?”

“Are you crazy?” Jensen grinned, “You went from strong and silent to the most touchy feely, talkative, filthy minded son of a bitch ever. Of course they're never going to let you live it down. The same way we never let Pooch live down the fact that he's scared of Jolene, or Roque live down the time he got beaten up by that little old lady who thought he was trying to mug her when he asked if she wanted help crossing the street. And let's not even go near how much we are never letting Clay forget that he has the world's worst taste in women.”

“And naturally we'll never allow you to forget the time you got jumped by a ninety pound girl,” Cougar said slyly, making Jensen's cheeks flush this time.

“I was totally engrossed in getting the software they sent us to Nicaragua for! Forgive me if I, for once, didn't have perfect peripheral awareness. And anyway, she was vicious. Those kicks were awesome. Agonizing, but awesome.” Jake rubbed his own ribs, remembering the sickening sensation of feeling two of them snap, under a veritable storm of kicks and blows from the girl, who must have been a ninja, there was no other way to explain it. 

Shaking his head and smiling gently, Cougar said, “Anyway, I guess I'll be buying the drinks from now until next Christmas, won't I?”

“I think so,” Jensen said sympathetically, “After all you did make Roque listen to you tell me how you wanted me to get all alpha on you and screw you up against the nearest wall. I don't think he'll get over that for a long time.”

Cougar moaned and cradled his aching head in his hands. “Oh God, just kill me now, please.”

Jake laughed and said, “Nope. Not killing you, you'll just have to be the brave little soldier I know you are and take the completely well-intentioned and never ending teasing like a man.” The blond reached out and chucked Cougar under his chin, smirking as he did so. Cougar had a brief memory of doing that to Jake, in a dark passageway, so he let it go and didn't slap the offending hand away. “Get some sleep, Cougs,” Jake said, standing up, “We need our ace sniper back asap.”

Cougar nodded and snuggled down into his pillows, suddenly tired again. He heard Jensen walk toward the door and said softly, “When I'm out of here, you're telling me everything I said I wanted to do to you and have you do to me. And we're doing every single thing, comprendes?”

Jake chuckled, low and sexy, “Yes indeed, Sergeant Alvarez. Oh yes indeed.” The door clicked shut and Cougar smiled, maybe something good would come out of this after all. He distinctly remembered telling Jensen he wanted to fuck him in the back of Jake's car. It would take work, but it would definitely be worth the effort.

With a happy sigh, Cougar finally fell asleep, with visions of naked Jake dancing in his head.

 

******

A few weeks later, Alexei sat at his desk and regarded the large pink envelope in front of him with a mixture of suspicion and disgust. It had been delivered by a courier, with no return address. Taking his courage in both hands, he opened the envelope and waited for a bomb to go off. Nothing happened, except a small shower of glitter falling all over his desk. Sliding the enclosed card out of the obnoxiously pink envelope, he saw a big 'Thank You!' along with a smiley bunny on the front. 

Opening it, he read 'Thank you to our dear Uncle Alexei, we will forever be in your debt. Without your drugs we'd never have realized how much we like each other! Love, hugs and squishy kisses, JJ and Cougs. P.S. One day we'll come back and slice you open piece by piece, you sadistic bastard. Never stop looking over your shoulder. But until then, have a great day! :)'

Alexei ground his teeth and flung the card to the floor, and tried to wipe the glitter off his desk. He ended up with it all over himself, which was totally going to ruin his image as a big bad gangster. He snarled and stormed off to find someone else to punch. This was not going to be a good day.


End file.
